“Considering I had less than two hours to prepare for that speech, and most of that time I was doing other stuff,—yeah completely unrehearsed,” I say. I’m not the best when it comes to speaking in public, but I held my own. Unlike now when I’m losing my nerve just trying to talk to my own girlfriend.
It’s only the most important question of my life. What’s the big deal?
I break out into a cold sweat. Jesus, this is a huge f**king deal.
“Well, you did great. And you look good too,” she says appreciatively. “Though I think I’ve told you that about a thousand times already.”
I raise a brow. “Only good?” Looks like I can still flirt at least. That’s good because I feel like I’m losing my grip and fast.
“Better than good.” She grins. “Hot. Mega hot.”
“That’s better.” Leaning in, I drop a quick kiss on her forehead.
“I love you,” she whispers and my heart cracks with her words. Rarely does she say it first; it’s almost like she’s scared to confess she may have more feelings than I do at any given moment.
I’ve lived most of my life always trying to be on top, but this relationship isn’t a competition. We’re two equals, Bryn and me, and I wish she could realize that. When it comes to relationships and love, I know she hasn’t had the best examples in life, but I want her to be confident knowing that I love her.
“I love you too,” I say, my voice—and my courage—growing stronger. “Bryn.”
“What?”
I stare into her eyes, memorizing the way she looks at this very moment. Happy, beautiful. Perfect. “Will you marry me? Be my bride?”
She stops dancing and so do I, my heart racing a million miles a minute. She’s gaping at me, her eyes wide, lips parted, staring at me like I have two heads. Then she takes a step back, her hands dropping away from me as she slowly shakes her head.
“I-I’m sorry. I can’t,” she whispers, just before she turns on her heel and runs away from me as fast as she can.
Leaving me standing in the middle of the dance floor. Alone and devastated.
Hell. What just happened?
Gage
“GAGE?”
My wife’s sweet voice rings through me, and I glance down at her, offering her a soft smile. “Yeah?”
“I love you.” Marina smiles at me, radiantly beautiful. I want to f**king cry all over again just looking at her. When I saw her poised at the end of the aisle on her father’s arm, ready to walk toward me and begin this journey called marriage, tears sprang to my eyes. The dress she wore was stunning. Her hair, her smile, the way she clutched her bouquet so tightly the flowers trembled—she did me in.
Flat out wrecked me.
All the stress and joy and arguments and worry and anxiety in planning this wedding had proven worth it in that one single moment.
“I love you too,” I whisper, bending down so I can kiss her, even slip her a little tongue which she responds to eagerly. Hey, this is our day. If anyone wants to give us grief for tongue kissing on the dance floor at our wedding reception, well they can suck the big one.
She breaks the kiss first, her smile wobbly, her eyes a little dazed. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I laugh and shake my head. “Kissing you?”
“For putting up with me these last few months.” Her smile turns immediately into a frown. “I’ve been a complete bitch. I don’t know how you put up with me.”
“You’re not a bitch.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “You might’ve been a bit . . . touchy but hey, you’ve been under a lot of stress. Planning a wedding isn’t easy.”
“Planning a wedding for a demanding bunch of Italians all expecting the party of the century is definitely not easy,” she says, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
I laugh. There’s something about her boisterous Italian family that I love. Even her dad who still sometimes treats me like I’m scum on the bottom of his shoe. I love that guy. I love her mom too. I love her whole damn family and I know my family embraces her fully, especially my sister.
Shit. My sister. She’s having a baby right now, and I haven’t contacted her. Our parents already left and headed to the hospital so they could be with her and Archer. I should do the same. We should leave right now and check up on her. We have time before we have to get to the hotel. Hell, we’re not even flying out to the Caribbean until tomorrow morning.
“I texted Archer a few minutes ago,” Marina says like she can read my mind or something.
Which she probably can. I used to think that crap was scary. Now I just roll with it.
“What did he say? How’s my sister?” I hear the panic in my own voice, and I tell myself to calm down. If something crazy were going down they would’ve contacted us. Otherwise, they’re leaving us alone—those were Archer’s exact words to me via text right before the ceremony. They want us to enjoy our wedding, not worry about Ivy the entire time.
I appreciated the gesture, and of course, I was able to get wrapped up in the ceremony and reception but still, I’m thinking of my sister and hoping like hell she’s all right.
“She’s good. Still in labor. Archer’s worried about her,” Marina says.
“Should I be worried about her too?”
“No. It’s normal. I spoke to your mom a few minutes ago. She called right before you dragged me out onto the dance floor,” Marina says, laughing when I scowl at her. “They’d just arrived at the hospital and said Ivy was looking good. Well, she was looking tired and a little grumpy and more than ready to give birth, but still good. There are no complications, and the baby should make his or her appearance soon.”